this is your heart (can you feel it?)
by thxndergirl
Summary: "Dad," Max chokes, clawing at the hand around his neck as the grip tightens and his vision starts to blur. "Dad...please." / Rated T for violence and swearing.
1. Chapter 1

**the title of this fic is from laura palmer by bastille. rated teen and up for violence and swearing. enjoy!**

* * *

 **SATURDAY 11/13. 8:46 EST.**

 ** _Paris, France._**

A gust of chilled autumn air sweeps over him as Hank Thunderman steps out of the warm bakery and onto the streets of Paris.

In his hands are stacked boxes in shades of pale pink and yellow, filled with flaky croissants and chocolate eclairs that are still warm. He's excited to surprise his family with a special breakfast; Barb had been rambling about French pastries for forever and he knows the affection Phoebe has for a good croissant. It definitely makes the flight across the Atlantic worthwhile.

Hank ducks carefully into an alleyway, keeping his head on a swivel. The last thing he wants is for someone to notice him taking off-but luckily the area isn't very crowded. Ideal for making a safe getaway. But before he can say " _Thunderman, away!"_ he feels an odd tingle in his Thundersense. And then the feeling that he's being watched.

His gaze snaps from side to side. As far as he can tell, there's no one here. He's about to chide himself for being so paranoid when there's a soft thud behind him.

Hank whirls around, fist already flying-and then his hand stops in midair.

"What the-" He meets a pair of glowing purple eyes, a feeling that's far too familiar rushing over him, but as hard as he tries he can't seem to move.

" _Thunderman_ ," the man in front of him says, his voice a cold, pleased hiss. " _You are mine now._ "

* * *

 **SATURDAY 11/13. 9:22 EST.**

 ** _Hiddenville._**

When Max comes into the living room on Saturday morning, he can almost feel the tension in air.

His mom and Phoebe are standing in front of the Thundermonitor, the former talking to President Kickbutt in a low voice while the latter hangs back, hands folded in front of her. Max steps in next to Phoebe slowly, running a hand through his bedhead and tilting his head questioningly when she turns to look at him. She taps a finger against her lips, her eyes silently promising an explanation. He nods as his attention flits back to the screen.

"-I'm sorry I have to ask this of you, Electrice," Kickbutt is saying. "But I wouldn't be calling you out of retirement if I didn't think it was of the utmost of importance. I hope you can understand."

"Of course, Super President," his mom nods. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure the situation doesn't get out of hand."

The woman on the screen clasps her hands together on the table in front of her, a grateful smile flashing across her features. "Tell Hank to be on standby when he returns. We don't know what could happen here. I wish you the best of luck with your mission. Super President Kickbutt, out."

It's only seconds after the call cuts off that Max demands, "What's going on?"

Phoebe and his mom look at each other. It's the kind of look that means it's something important, something that makes them both nervous. Maybe even scared. Max feels his hands tighten into fists.

"Max, there's been a mass break-out at the super villain prison," his mom begins carefully. "A lot of very powerful, very dangerous criminals got loose. Super President Kickbutt asked me to assist a squadron of heroes in hunting them down."

Max narrows his eyes. "But you're retired. Can't someone else handle it?" The tightness in his own voice surprises him. It's not that he doesn't think she's capable of doing the job, but Kickbutt looks more worried than he's seen in a very long time, and Electrice hasn't been in the field for a while now.

His mom seems to notice his nerves. She puts a hand on his shoulder, gentle and still firm, and looks him in the eyes. "This is an all-hands-on-deck type of situation. They need me out there."

"Max and I could come with you," Phoebe pipes up, and Max nods vehemently, but their mom shakes her head.

"No way. You guys aren't ready to take on something this big yet." She holds up a hand as they start to protest, cutting them off. "Just stay here with your siblings, okay? But don't tell them what's going on, I don't want them to worry. Your dad should be home soon, so fill him in."

"Okay," Phoebe nods, hesitant. "Be careful, Mom."

She kisses them both on the head, running her fingers through Max's hair when she does. "I will. Don't worry, I'll be back before you can miss me."

* * *

She's not.

Well, then again, it's not very long before they start missing her. Normally Max would love having time off without his parents, but it's hardly been twenty minutes after Electrice leaves and he can already feel worry pooling in the pit of his stomach.

Part of that is because of Phoebe, whose leg won't stop bouncing on the couch next to him.

"Phoebe!" he says abruptly, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "would you _please_ cut it out?"

She groans, marking the page in her book and hugging it against her chest. "I'm sorry, I'm just nervous! What if something goes wrong?"

"Everything's gonna be fine, Pheebs. Mom can handle this." He's not sure if he believes it himself. But it seems to reassure his twin some; she settles a little deeper into the couch with a slow exhale, the deep crease in her brow fading.

"You're probably right," she says, and then snorts to herself. "Wouldn't that be a first?" A grin flickers across her face.

"Oh, shut up," Max says, tossing a pillow at her head. She laughs and dodges it, and just like that, some of the tension seems to ebb away.

It's not very long after when the door opens and their dad comes in, balancing a few pastel-colored (and slightly dented) boxes in his arms. "Hey, kids, I'm home!" he calls cheerfully. "And I brought breakfast!"

At the sound of this, Billy and Nora come thundering down the steps, and Chloe materializes in the middle of the living room.

"Ooh, whadya bring, whadya bring?" she asks eagerly, bouncing on the tips of her feet and grinning as Hank leads them into the kitchen and sets the boxes on the table. He opens them up to reveal flaky croissants, powdered donuts, and chocolate eclairs.

"Straight from Paris," he beams as they huddle around the boxes, eyes gleaming. "I thought I'd bring a little surprise home for you guys. Where's your mom?"

Max and Phoebe glance briefly at each other as Max picks an eclair out of the box. "She had to run some errands," he lies swiftly, eyeing Billy, Nora, and Chloe. "She said she'll be back soon, and actually-"

Before he can pull his dad aside, there's a gust of wind and the pastry disappears from his hands. "Hey!"

Billy shoves the whole thing in his mouth at once, chocolate coating the edges of his lips. He gives Max a toothy grin. "You snooze, you-"

And then he crumples.

"Billy!" Nora cries out, and Phoebe drops to her brother's side immediately, her hands ghosting over his body. His eyes are closed, but his chest is rising and falling steadily.

"He's breathing," she says uneasily. "I think he's...asleep. What-"

"Damn, that was not supposed to work so quickly. That kid's metabolism is fast."

Max's head snaps away from Billy's prone form to look at their dad. Hank is looking at Billy almost in irritation, and something seems suddenly...different about him. Max feels his chest tighten, feeling strangely uneasy.

"Nice prank, Dad," he says, giving a nervous sort of laugh. "But maybe you should just leave the pranking to the king," he grins a little.

His dad's eyes train on him, hard and cold and unfeeling, and his stomach twists uncomfortably. Hank has only looked at him like that a few times before. He opens his mouth to ask what's wrong-

And then stars explode in front of his eyes as his dad's fist connects with his jaw.

The punch is hard enough to throw Max into the barstools. Everything goes fuzzy-white for a moment, he's dimly aware of Nora yelling his name, and Phoebe's voice-" _Chloe, take Billy and get out of here!"-_ and then adrenaline rushes through his system and his vision clears and the pain slams into him full-force.

He's sure something's broken. There's a warm and metallic taste flooding his mouth-he must've bitten into his tongue. The entire right side of his face is throbbing, but he looks up and sees Phoebe facing their father, who is currently using the dining table as a shield, and he pulls himself up to his feet.

"Something's wrong with him," he winces, wiping his hand across his mouth as the pain in his jaw flares sharply.

Nora huffs, her eyes starting to glow. "You think?"

Hank's back is pressed against the wall, table-shield raised against the torrent of ice flowing from Phoebe's mouth. For a moment, it seems like she has the upper hand-and then in a sudden burst, he thrusts the table forward. Phoebe yelps; Max lifts a hand and catches it with his telekinesis in midair before it can hit her, but then Hank is gone. The three kids race into the living room, heads swiveling frantically.

"Where did he go?" Phoebe says, her voice breathless with panic.

Max starts to shake his head when there's a thud behind Nora. "Look out!" he yells, and she shrieks as Phoebe shoves her out of the way.

The twins open their mouths and train their freeze breath on Hank at the same time, but he dodges it with a swiftness that's unfamiliar on their dad. He laughs coldly. "You think you can beat me?" he says. "I'm _Thunderman!_ I taught you everything you know!"

"You're _not_ Thunderman," Phoebe growls, lifting a hand and sending the coffee table flying towards him. But all he has to do is raise a fist, and the table dissolves into splinters.

"Oh, Mom is gonna _kill_ you for that." A torrent of objects flies through the air, guided by Max's hands: vases, books, pans, all flinging themselves at Hank. He dodges or crushes every one, and manages to catch the frying pan and send it hurtling back, where it misses Max's head by a few narrow inches.

Hank looks at him, expression completely devoid of any care or kindness. "I'd be a little more worried about yourself, if I were you."

"Yeah?" Max lifts an eyebrow, chest heaving, but grins ever so slightly. "It's three against one, old man."

It's a perfect cue; Nora's lasers catch Hank's shoulder exactly at the same time as Max drops a vase over his head, and they watch as their father tumbles behind the couch. He doesn't get up.

There's a pause in the room, and then Phoebe takes a tentative step forwards. "Is he-"

She doesn't get a chance to finish the sentence. The couch flies at them so suddenly that it catches all three of them off guard, so suddenly that they don't even get a chance to take hold of it with their powers. Max just barely lunges out of the way as it slams against the floor.

Then there's a sharp cry of pain behind him. _No._ He looks up to see Phoebe pinned under the couch, her eyes flashing with pain, and his stomach twists.

"Phoebe!" He rushes towards her, trying to lift the couch with his telekinesis, but he stops at the sound of a different scream. "Nora... _no!"_

She's struggling in Hank's arms, her eyes glowing but unable to reach him as he's behind her. He tosses her roughly into the coat closet and locks the door. Max can hear his little sister pounding against it-but he remembers, with a painful jolt, the summer when they'd made all the doors in the house power-proof. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Hank turns to look at him, the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile. "What were you saying about three against one?"

Something hot and furious rises in him.

Max rushes at his father, ice already flowing from his mouth. Hank moves expertly out of the way, flying into the air, using anything he can get his hands on as a shield. "Is that the best you can do?" he snarls, as Max hurtles every loose object he can get a hold of at him.

Brown eyes flit around the room. Another breath of ice that Hank dodges expertly is all it takes, and then he's _exactly_ where Max wants him.

"Not even close."

The shelves come down on his dad's head. Books and vases rain down on him, sending him dropping to his knees, shielding himself with his arms. Max rushes forward, already summoning a final breath of freezing air, but then-

"Max," comes his voice, and it's _pleading._ "Max, it's me!"

He stops, heart pounding against his ribcage. "Dad?"

Hank nods, standing up slowly, his hands raised above his head. "It's me, okay? I'm-I don't know what happened, but it's me. I swear to you, it's me."

And he sounds so normal. So much like himself. And Max drops his hands, shoulders relaxing.

First mistake.

Right before it happens, he sees Hank's eyes flicker purple, and suddenly he knows _exactly_ what's going on. But it's a second too late-Hank- _not Hank, not his father-_ grabs him by the shoulders and throws him across the room, and he slams against the wall with a sickening crack.

His vision goes white. For a moment, he can't move, and then Phoebe screams his name.

"Leave him alone!" he hears her yell, and his eyes snap open in time to see her struggling with the couch that pins her to the floor, in time to see Hank walking towards her, his gaze mad with power.

"No, no!" He scrambles to his feet, trying to blink the spots out of his eyes, trying to shut out the ringing in his ears, and throws the first thing he can find-a cookbook-at Hank.

His father's- _not his father's-_ eyes turn towards him. "Still kicking, huh?" he says, sounding almost amused. It makes Max feel sick to his stomach. It's not his dad, he reminds himself. He's read all about this villain, all about how he works himself into the minds of his victims and twists them to do things they can't control.

"I know who you are." His voice is shaky, but he tilts his chin up as not-Hank starts walking towards him. "You-you're Mastermind. You broke out of the Hero League prison. And now you're controlling my dad."

His father's face twists with a grin. "Funny. Everything inside Thunderman's head tells me you're the dumb one." In the blink of an eye, he rushes forward, and the heat dies on Max's lips as Hank's fist buries itself in his stomach. "Then again," he says, as Max doubles over and struggles to catch his breath, "he doesn't seem to like you very much at all."

The next fist hits him in the face. Hot blood streams down Max's nose, and his eyes scan the room for anything left unbroken that he can throw at his father. But Hank doesn't miss this. He grabs Max's hand roughly, his grip slowly tightening around his wrist, and Max swallows, fear rushing into him in a sudden, sharp wave. "Wait," he says dizzily. "Wait, no, don't-"

He breaks off with a strangled cry as the bone snaps, dropping to his knees when Hank releases him. The pain floods his whole arm, angry and hot and god,it _hurts._ A memory hits him with odd and sudden clarity-they'd been in Metroburg, and he'd crashed into a tree on his jetpack and broken his wrist in almost the exact same place. His dad had helped him ice it, then.

Now, Hank kicks him in the stomach and lets him fall to the ground.

Max lies there for a moment, cradling his broken hand against his chest. _Get up, get up!_ the voice in his head is screaming, but he can't pull himself off the floor, not even when the shadow of his father's figure looms over him with a sneer.

"Pathetic. I can see why your dad hates you so much, you know." Not-Hank's voice is almost conversational, even as he stomps his foot against Max's ribcage and _holy shit, something snaps._ A yell of pain escapes Max's lips, gritted teeth doing nothing to hold it back anymore as fire surges through his chest unlike anything he's ever felt before.

"You're a joke of a hero," his father's voice continues, and another kick meets Max's chest, again and again, _again and again_. "You think you're some poster boy for change just because you got scared and ran back to a family that doesn't even _want you_."

His head spins.

"Max!" Phoebe's voice cuts in, and he tries to focus on that, on her. Past the blurred edges of his vision, he can see her still struggling with the couch, trying to wriggle her arms out from underneath it. "Max, don't listen to him!"

She's crying, he realizes suddenly. Max coughs, and the drops that fall from his lips are scarlet.

Hands twist in the front of his shirt and haul him off the floor, shoving him against the wall. "He never cared about you. You were his biggest failure." Another hit lands in his stomach. "A part of him was even hoping you would stay a villain. At least then he'd have an excuse to get rid of you."

The world tilts and his whole body feels numb with pain, but somehow he can still see his father's features clearly. He can still see the _hatred_ on his face.

 _It's not his father._

Max lifts his chin. "You're wrong," he croaks, with all of the strength he can muster, his voice coming out as barely above whisper. Even as he says it, he's not sure what he believes. It's like every harsh thing his father has ever said to him comes rushing back at once, and the words ring painfully in his skull. And yet-"You-you're wrong." His mouth is thick with the taste of blood.

"Is that what you think?" Hank smirks. "That your daddy loves you?"

Then his hand is around Max's neck.

"Well, I'm the one inside of his head, and guess what?"

The fingers squeeze, and panic surges in his chest-

"He's gonna thank me for this."

He can't breathe. _Holy shit,_ he can't _breathe;_ he tries to gasp for air but nothing father's hand is clenched around his windpipe, blocking off the supply of oxygen to his lungs and stopping him from doing something so simple and rudimentary as _breathing_ and he's kicking as hard as he can but it doesn't matter, _he can't, he can't-_

Phoebe's screaming in the background, but all he sees is his father's face, his father's eyes, staring him down with nothing but cruelty as he slowly strangles him.

" _Dad_ ," Max chokes, clawing at the hand around his neck as the grip tightens and his vision dances with dark spots, "Dad... _please._ "

Hank's eyes flicker purple.

And then everything happens at once.

At the same time that the pressure eases, the door bursts open, and Max can't make out the features of the person who stands there but he _knows_ the lightning that follows. It's over so quickly that he isn't even sure what happened; all he knows is that his father's body drops to the ground and air rushes back into his lungs.

There's a hand on his shoulder, gentle and steadying, and someone is saying something to him but the words are warbled and incoherent, and it sounds like he's underwater. He sways.

"G-Great timing, Mom," he manages to choke out, and then his knees buckle beneath him.

* * *

 **hey everyone! i'm back with another thundermans fic! i've had this idea for so long and i've done draft after draft of this thing. it took me forever, but i finally made a version i'm proud of. yes, i am currently planning to write a part two for this fic, so stay tuned. and as always, thanks for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

here's part two!

* * *

 **MONDAY 11/15. 19:36 EST**

 _ **Metroburg.**_

When he wakes up, Max is in a hospital.

It takes a minute for his vision to adjust to the bright lights. He's lying on white linen sheets, surrounded by blank walls and the smell of antiseptic, and the beeping of a heart rate monitor fills his ears.

Suddenly, panic rushes through him and he jolts upright, only to have pain sear through his chest. A small cry escapes his lips- _Hospital, he can't be in a hospital-_

And then there are gentle hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down even as he struggles against them. "Max, Max! It's okay!"

He blinks, the figure in front of him slowly coming into focus. "Phoebe?" he rasps, and his voice is slightly slurred and sounds like tires over gravel. "Why're we 'n a hospital?"

"We're at the superhero hospital," she explains, her hands still on his shoulders. "In Metroburg. How do you feel?"

Blearily, Max lifts a hand to rub his head and finds himself surprised at the sight of his wrist wrapped in a black cast. "Like I got... _ugh,_ hit by a truck," he groans, trying to ignore the pounding in his skull. "What-what happened?"

She hesitates for a moment and tucks a lock of her hair behind her ear. "What do you remember?"

He tries to think back to everything that happened before he'd blacked out. Lightning in the room, his dad's hand around his neck-no, _not his dad,_ he thinks, and then it all comes rushing back. "Where's Dad?" he says abruptly, voice rising and sliced with harsh coughs as he starts to sit up. "Is he still-"

"He's fine," Phoebe cuts him off immediately. "They found Mastermind and put him back in prison, along with the other escapees. They're in the waiting room, I should-"

"Mom? Billy? Nora? Chloe?"

She gives a small laugh, without any real humor behind it, and pats his hand gently. "Everyone's fine, Max. We were all just worried about you."

He pauses for a moment, letting that sink in. He lifts his uninjured hand to touch the bandage on his head, the stitches on his cheek, the bruises along his jaw. His ribs twinge at even that small movement, and he winces. "How long...was I out?" he asks slowly.

"Almost three days." Her brow is creased slightly, the way it gets when she's worried, and he notices for the first time that her eyes are red and wet. "You scared the hell out of us Max, I thought-I thought-"

"M'okay, Pheebs."

"You almost weren't, though," she says shakily. "A few more seconds and he would've-" her voice breaks slightly, "and I would've just been stuck under that _stupid_ couch, where I couldn't even _move._ "

"It's not your fault," Max says quickly, recognizing the guilt and shame in her tone. It's characteristic of his twin, and he knows that nothing he says will make her blame herself any less, but that doesn't mean he won't try.

Phoebe shakes her head and shuts her eyes, then reaches for his unbroken hand. Her fingers tighten around his. "I'm just...I'm really glad you're okay," she breathes softly.

He squeezes her hand gently and shoots her a grin. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

She gives a small laugh and sniffs, blinking the water from her eyes. "You're right. You're way to stubborn for that." She reaches for something leaning against the table-crutches, he realizes abruptly-and pushes herself up out of her chair. Max notices the cast around her leg for the first time.

"Are _you_ okay?"

Phoebe looks down at her foot and then back up at him, shaking her head slightly. "Yeah, this-this is nothing. The couch kind of crushed my leg but, it should be back to normal in a few weeks." Max nods, and she says, "I'm gonna go tell the others you're awake, okay?"

"Yeah," he says, watching as she limps out of the room and leaves him alone in the silence.

His ears ring uncomfortably, and he settles a little deeper into the hospital bed. Absently, he plays back the memory of the fight; the books and vases hurtling around the room, Nora pounding on the door of the closet, Phoebe struggling underneath the couch and his dad, his... _not his dad, the hand around his neck, slowly squeezing, cutting off his air supply and-_

"Max!"

He snaps out of the memory as a tiny pair of arms latches around his body, knocking the wind out of him. But he can't bring himself to care about the pain that shoots up his chest, not when Chloe is hugging him like he's the world. "Hey, kiddo," he says with a soft laugh, wrapping his arms around her.

Billy comes speeding into the room then, joining Chloe in crushing Max's already-mangled ribs. "You're alive!" he exclaims.

"Yeah," Max wheezes, "but I'm not sure how long I'll stay that way."

"What do you- _oh,_ " Billy scrambles off of him quickly, giving him a sheepish smile as Chloe does the same.

As they do, his parents and Nora come rushing into the room, Phoebe hopping close behind them, and Max tries- _tries,_ and fails, not to flinch at the sight of his father. His mom cups his face in her hands, eyes wide with concern as she kisses his forehead.

"Ouch-Mom," he protests, although he doesn't actually mind it all that much, and finds himself a little pleased when she pulls back but doesn't move her hands from his cheeks.

"You scared us all to death, Maximus Octavius Thunderman!" she scolds him, her voice hoarse and her eyes red. Had everyone been crying?

He gives a small laugh that quickly dissolves into a cough and lets the corner of his mouth quirk upwards. "I'm fine, Mom. Really."

Gently, she smooths back his hair and smiles warmly at him, and then he hears a soft sniffle. Nora looks up at him, tear tracks glistening on her cheeks, and he notices abruptly that she's taken her bow off, fiddling with it in her hands. "Nora, hey," he says softly. "I'm okay."

She shakes her head, hastily swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "You were-you were-I was _stuck_ in that closet, and I came out and you were just _lying there,_ you looked like-you looked like you were _dead-"_

"I'm not," he says, his voice strained, and he _really_ hopes she's not adopting Phoebe's trait of putting the world's weight on her shoulders because Nora is far too young for that. "Nora, it's okay. I'm okay."

She just sort of collapses into him, burying her head into his shoulder, and he pats her back with his unbroken hand and finds himself wondering suddenly if they've all always cared this much or if it just took him until now to notice.

The shaking of her body against his eases a little, and there's tension heavy in the silence so he says, "Almost get strangled to death and suddenly you're everyone's favorite Thunderman, huh?" and Nora gives a watery sort of laugh, but maybe it's not the best thing to say because Phoebe's hand squeezes his fingers just a little tighter and he thinks he sees his dad flinch.

He still hasn't said anything.

There's this-this _look_ on his face, though; guilt and worry and just... _anguish,_ and he's never felt this much concern come from his father before. Towards Phoebe, maybe, but-never towards him. He won't really meet Max's eyes, focusing instead on the IV bag or the heart monitor, the soft blue paisley-patterned curtains.

And then Max feels a sudden flash of irrational anger, because it should be _him_ that's avoiding his dad's eyes, not the other way around, because it's him that looks at those eyes and can feel the kicks landing on his chest, can feel the blood, hot and sticky, running down his face, can feel the hand around his neck slowly tightening-

His breath hitches and then his mom's hand is on his shoulder. "Max?" she's saying, and his ears are ringing again. "Max, are you okay? You're shaking."

"Fine, I'm-" he shakes his head and sinks back into the pillows. "Fine. Just tired."

"Maybe we should leave you to rest." She puts a cool hand against his forehead. "The doctor said he'd be in to check up on you in a little bit."

Max nods slowly, and his mom starts to usher Billy and Chloe out of the room, but his dad pauses beside the bed. "Actually, er, Max, can we talk?" he says slowly.

And maybe Phoebe catches his shoulders tense, because she stops by the door to give him a look that very plainly asks if she should stay. Max gives the tiniest shake of his head. He's not entirely keen on being alone with his dad right now, but the rational part of his brain reminds him that it's not like he has anything to be afraid of. It's not like it was really his dad that put him in this hospital bed.

That doesn't stop the dread from pooling in his stomach when Phoebe limps out of the room, though.

His dad's eyes train on him. There's a few beats of silence, and then, "Max," he says, at the same time that Max says, "Dad-"

"You first," they both say together, and then his dad shakes his head. "Max, I'm so sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. That-that was Mastermind, right? That wasn't you." And he hates the way he sounds so unsure, hates that he _feels_ unsure, because he knows his dad would never, but the things his mind-controlled voice had said have wormed their way into his mind, have dragged his insecurities up to the surface and left him feeling both vulnerable and very, very afraid.

"It wasn't me," his dad agrees, and winces. "But I was watching him do it. I felt him using my powers, using _me,_ to-to hurt you."

Max isn't sure what to say to that, so he just looks away from his father, one hand fiddling with the cast around his wrist, his fingers curling in the sheets. Finally, he asks, "Was he lying?" His dad blinks at him, silently urging an explanation. Max swallows tightly. "He said-he said I was your biggest failure." His voice is hollow. "He said y-you-that you _wanted_ to get rid of me."

His dad doesn't say anything, just stares at him open-mouthed, and something in Max's chest plummets. He feels like he can't breathe, sure he's being strangled again-but there's no hand this time, just his father's eyes and the beeping of the heart monitor beside him and his worst fears confirmed. "I didn't-I never-" and then his voice breaks, and the tears come so suddenly he doesn't get the chance to hold them back. "I'm sorry I wasn't perfect like Phoebe," he says, half-shouts, even as the pain in his chest and his bruised throat flares. "I'm sorry I was never good enough, no matter what I did...and I _know_ I wanted to be a villain but I never-I never wanted you to _hate_ me-"

"Max... _Max,"_ He's not sure when his dad started calling his name, just that there are hands on his shoulders and he wants to flinch away, but they're careful, and gentle, and when Max looks up, the eyes he meets are glassy with tears. "I could never hate you," his dad says softly. "I _never_ wanted to get rid of you...everything he said, everything he did to you...that wasn't me."

Max takes a shuddering breath, hating the way his shoulders shake as the words catch in his throat. "He said...he said you'd _thank_ him for it," he breathes quietly.

And then his dad pulls him against his chest, arms tight but secure and safe and _warm,_ and this time, Max doesn't wince or pull away. He lets himself be held like that, lets the tears flow and he can't remember the last time he's cried like this, because villains don't cry and heroes are too strong for that, but right now, he can't bring himself to care.

"I'm sorry, Max. I'm so sorry." His dad's hands run through his hair and Max clings to him a little tighter, sixteen years of missing his father's affection besting the one day of fear.

His dad is still holding him when his sobs fade, when the shaking of his shoulders starts to ease a little and the tears begin to slow. "If I ever-" he begins, and then swallows tightly. "Max, if I ever made you feel like you didn't matter to me...like you were worth anything less-I-I'm sorry."

Max nods wordlessly against his chest.

"And I...when you were going to join Dark Mayhem, I told you that you wouldn't be my son anymore."

His whole body tenses. "Yeah," he breathes quietly. "I remember."

"I never should have said that to you." Max pulls away for a moment to look up at his dad, whose eyes are filled with guilt, voice hard but shaky. "I was betrayed and angry and...I never should have said that. Max, you will _always_ be my son. No matter what happens between us...you'll always be my son. I'll always love you."

Max feels his heart skip over a beat at those words, feels himself suck in a sharp breath as his eyes widen. Slowly, he lets a smile pass over his face and tucks himself close to his dad. "I love you too, Dad."

And just maybe, Max thinks, he's gonna be okay.

* * *

so yeah, this kind of turned into a bit of a fix-it fic because i found myself unhappy with the relationship max and hank had in the show and i wanted to explore it a little more. i hope i did them justice. let me know what you thought in the comments, and thanks to everyone for reading!


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